Leaving Paradise (14 page)

twenty-seven

Caleb

I asked Brian to meet me at the park for some one-on-one. I’m practicing free throws when he drives up in his Yukon.

“You look like a middle-aged man in that thing,” I say.

He gives a fake-insulted huff. “It’s better than the car you drive.”

“I don’t drive one.”

“Exactly.”

We stand facing each other. I say what needs to be said. “Listen, about you and Kendra. How about we call a truce.”

“Fair enough.”

I pass him the ball. He dribbles the ball too far away from his body, so I knock it and grab it away from him. “B-ball’s still not your game, is it?” I say as I dribble down the court.

Brian’s shuffling backwards, following my every move. When I stop, his hands are up and ready to block my shot. “Get me on a wrestling mat and I’ll kick your ass.”

I take a shot. It bounces off the rim and Brian gets the rebound.

Brian is an anxious player. He runs down the court and shoots too quickly, missing the basket by a mile. The ball lands in the grass. I take the ball inbounds. “You’re a lightweight, Bri,” I say. “I’d pin you in less than ten seconds.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, big guy, tomorrow after school.”

I move around Brian and make an easy lay-up. “I have to work.”

He holds the ball. “You say that, but you never say where. Rumor has it you’re a homo and meet up with your lover after school. Is he the one who gave you the bruise on your face?”

My muscles start to tense up. “Don’t give me shit.”

Brian starts dribbling down the court, his eye on the basket. “Why? You gonna threaten me like you threatened Drew?”

Brian shoots and the ball goes right in.

This time I hold the ball under my arm, stopping the game. “He was trying to piss me off and you know it.”

My old friend crosses his arms on his chest. “You’ve changed, Caleb. I don’t even know you anymore. And this has nothing to do with Kendra.”

“Bullshit. I’m the same person.”

He laughs. “You’ve got a chip on your shoulder. Everybody knows it but you. That’s the scary part.”

No, the scary part is that people don’t realize how much
they’ve
changed. “So everyone else is the same except me?”

“No, dude.
Everybody’s
changed, nobody is the same. You’re the only one who can’t accept it. You’re not a sophomore anymore, you’re not dating Kendra, you’re not the wrestling stud. You’re a bad-ass, brooding ex-con.”

I’ll show him a brooding ex-con. I dribble the ball down the court, and when Brian gets in my face I push him down before I take the shot.

“Foul!” Brian calls out.

“You said to accept my bad-ass ex-con self. I’m only taking your suggestion.”

I hold out a hand. He looks at me suspiciously, then grabs my wrist as I pull him up. I get three more baskets and recover two of Brian’s rebounds.

“You know what you need?” Brian says as he wipes sweat from his brow.

“A new best friend?” I suggest.

“No. You need a girlfriend. Name a chick you think is hot. Just throw out a name.”

“Maggie Armstrong.”

“No, seriously. Name a chick.”

“I am serious.”

“Dude, that’s sick. You went to jail because of her.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“You’re telling me you have the hots for
the
Maggie Armstrong? Your next-door neighbor? The girl who walks weird because you ran over her leg with your car?”

“Brian, you’re starting to act like Drew.”

Brian looks confused as he’s trying to comprehend what I just admitted to him. Then he bursts out laughing.He can’t stop and falls to the ground in hysterics, holding his stomach. “That’s . . .
hilarious!”
he yells when he can catch his breath. “Oh my God, it
can’t
be true . . .” he says, then goes back to laughing hysterically again.

I’m seriously considering kicking his ass right now. But this isn’t Vic or Drew, this is Brian. I take the ball and head back home, but not before telling Brian to go to hell.

Nobody is home; I have the house all to myself. I want to yell at the top of my lungs, but just as I’m about to do it the doorbell rings. Brian is an idiot if he’s stupid enough to come here to laugh in my face again. Maybe, after all, I will use his head as my punching bag.

But I open the door and my ex-best friend isn’t standing in front of me. It’s Kendra, my ex-girlfriend. Shiny lips and all. “Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

“Are your parents home?”

“Nope.” She already knew they weren’t.

“Can I come in?”

I open the door wider. She heads straight upstairs to my room. I watch her back and my eyes focus on her thong underwear sticking out of the top of her shorts before I follow.

Closing my door like I always do when we’re about to fool around, I lean back against the door and watch her. But this time we’re not going to fool around. I know it. She doesn’t, obviously, I can tell by what she’s wearing. A ridiculously low-cut shirt, I swear her nipples are millimeters below the ruffled collar. And her shorts reveal way more than I’d ever want any girlfriend of mine to reveal. But she’s not my girlfriend, she’s Brian’s.

Kendra wanders around my bedroom, fingering my desk, my dresser, and my bookshelves. When she picks up my lightsaber and turns it on, I’m tempted to tell her not to touch it.

“When are you going to get rid of these toys?” she asks, waving it in the air.

I don’t answer.

Sighing, she says, “I know Brian told you about him and me. But I still love you, you know.” She closes the distance between us, close enough that I can smell her cherry lips. She licks them and leans in for a kiss.

I turn my head away. “What? One boyfriend isn’t enough for you?”

“I want you both.”

“It’s over, Kend. Way over.”

“It’s not and you know it. Because—and I know this sounds selfish, but it’s true—I don’t want anyone else to have you.”

“Break up with Brian. The guy wants to marry you.”

She chuckles. “My parents think he’s good for me, so I’m playing along. Besides, I need a boyfriend I can hang with in public. But you can be my private boyfriend, CB.”

“Never gonna happen.”

“Wanna bet?” She steps back, points the tip of the saber at me, and pushes the blunt tip against my throat. A wicked grin crosses her mouth. “You can be my little secret. You like keeping secrets, don’t you Caleb?”

My pulse quickens, and the mood in the room changes instantly. One thought burns in my brain . . .
she knows
.

“What do you want?” I say evenly.

“CB, don’t look so sad. I just want you,” she says, then lowers the saber and goes in for another kiss.

This time I don’t turn away.

twenty-eight

Maggie

It took a week for Mom to invite Mr. Reynolds over for dinner. She asked me about twenty more times if it was okay with me. I didn’t have the heart to say no.

Mr. Reynolds comes in the house wearing a grey three-piece suit and red tie, as if he’s going to court for a traffic violation. In his hands are a dozen purple tulips for my mom and a box of Frango chocolates for me.

“Thanks,” I say awkwardly as he hands me the box. Do I open it now, or wait until later . . . or tomorrow?

“Why don’t you have a seat and make yourself comfortable, Lou,” Mom says nervously, her hands fidgeting with the black, sophisticated dress she decided to wear. “Would you like a drink? Wine . . . brandy . . . soft drink?”

Mr. Reynolds smiles, a warm smile that I can tell is sincere. “Surprise me.”

Mom laughs, a sweet, soft laugh I haven’t heard in years.

When Mom is in the kitchen, Mr. Reynolds turns to me. “How is it back at school after being away for a year?”

I shrug. “It’s okay, I guess.”

He stares out the window. Where’s my mom? The clock on the fireplace mantle is ticking, each second a reminder of how time is passing so slowly.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Mr. Reynolds rubs his hands together. I can tell he’s as eager as I am for my mom to come back.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I want to excuse myself and hide in my room. I don’t think I can handle watching my mom on a date with someone other than my dad.

Just as I’m about to stand up and excuse myself, she comes in with three drinks and a big smile. “Martinis for us, Sprite for Maggie.”

Mr. Reynolds takes the glass from my mom. Their hands touch slightly when she hands it to him. I know I encouraged her to invite Mr. Reynolds over, but he’s too big, too blonde, and . . . and he’s not my dad.

I stand up.

Mom looks at me, her expression wary. “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

“To my room. I forgot to call Danielle.”

Mom has this puppy dog look on her face; I think she knows I’m lying.

In my room I open the top drawer of my desk. In an envelope I keep my dad’s phone number. My hands are shaking as I dial his number.

It rings three times before he answers. “Jerry Armstrong here.”

“Um . . . Dad?”

“Maggie, is that you?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s my little girl holding up?”

“Fine.”

“And your leg? The last time we talked you were having a bit of trouble.”

“It’s better, I guess.”

It feels good to talk to my dad. Hearing his familiar voice takes away the black cloud that always seems to hover over me. I don’t want to tell him the truth about my leg because I only want to share good news. If I’m positive, then maybe he won’t want to forget I’m his daughter.

“Great. And school?”

I swallow the reality and say as cheerfully as I can, “Perfect. I’m getting all As,” I lie.

“Wow.”

There’s silence, but I don’t want him to hang up. I feel desperate. He sounds enthusiastic, but I’m not sure.

“How’s your mother doing?” he finally says, breaking the silence.

She’s currently having a date with her boss in our living room
. “She’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it. I miss you, sweetheart.”

“I miss you, too. When can I see you?”

No matter how many times I promise myself I won’t beg him, I fail. It’s like something inside me snaps when I think he’s going to end the conversation. I want to yell,
Aren’t I good enough?
but I don’t.

“Sometime soon, when business settles down.”

The black cloud returns—I’ve heard those exact words before. Too many times.

“Maggie, can you do me a favor?”

I’m holding back tears as I say, “What?”

“Tell your mother I sent her a check last week. And to have her lawyer stop calling mine. It’s costing me a fortune every time he calls, like a hundred and fifty an hour.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Someone else is talking in the background and I can tell I’m losing his attention. “I have to take another call, sweetheart. I’m sorry, it’s important. I’ll call you soon.”

“Okay. I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Mags.”

Click.

I swallow hard and lean my head back against the wall. As much as I tell myself not to, I’m crying. I’d love to throw myself onto my bed and sob into my pillow, but Mom’ll probably hear me.

The phone rings, startling me. I’m still holding the cordless in my hand. Could it be my dad calling back so soon? He always says he’ll call but never does. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe he realizes after hearing my voice he misses me so much he can’t stand it anymore.

“Hello?” I say excitedly.

There’s a hesitation on the line, then a female voice recording says, “This is High Spring Water Company reminding you that there’s a special on our five-gallon water bottles for the month of October. If you’d like to order—”

I hang up the phone in the middle of the recording. God, I feel so alone. There’s nobody in my life who remotely understands what I’ve been going through.

Except one person.

My fingers dial the Becker’s number automatically before my brain can comprehend what I’m doing.

“Hello.”

It’s him—Caleb. I don’t even know what to say.

“Maggie? I know it’s you, we have caller ID.”

I forgot about that. “Hi,” I mumble.

“What’s up?”

Tears come to my eyes. “I just . . . wanted to talk to you.”

“Why are you crying? Are you hurt? Did you fall?”

I can’t talk because I don’t want him to know how weak I am . . . how much I need his friendship right now. God, all those years I thought I would die if he didn’t love me as much as I loved him. But now I realize how stupid I was.

“If you don’t answer me, I’m coming over whether your mom’s there or not.” His voice is hard and commanding, and I know he means it.

“No, don’t come over. Can you meet me at Paradise Park in ten minutes?”

“I’ll be there,” he promises.

I take the sleeve of my shirt and wipe at my eyes. “Caleb?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

I splash water on my eyes in the bathroom, tell my mom that I’m going over to Danielle’s, and head for the park.

Caleb walks up a minute later wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a plain button-down shirt over it. He slows his stride when he sees me and, without a word, pulls me into an embrace.

Now I’m losing it, right into his shirt. I clutch onto him as the sobs start and don’t stop. I let it all out—my mom’s date, my dad’s conversation, my confusion about it all. Caleb doesn’t laugh, he doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t talk . . . he just lets me be me.

When I settle down, I lean back and witness the mess I’ve made on his shirt. “I made your shirt all gross,” I say between sniffles.

“Forget the shirt. What’s going on? I couldn’t understand a word you mumbled into my chest.”

Now I’m half laughing and half crying. He looks down at my hand. I do, too. He slowly reaches out and takes my fingers in his. God, how I dreamed of us holding hands all those years ago. He’d take my hand in his and we’d walk down the street together. I look up at his eyes. Usually they’re dark and brooding, but now I see a warmth there I’d never noticed before. He leads me to the old oak. We both sit down, then he leans back against the tree right next to me and lets go of my hand. “Okay, now talk.”

It’s easy because I don’t have to look at him, I can just spurt out all the stuff that’s going wrong in my life. I take a deep breath. I’m going to attempt to say it all without going into hysterics again. “My mom has a date over, her boss and Mrs. Reynolds’ son. I think my mom likes him, but I don’t know if I’m ready for her to start dating. I know it’s selfish, but my dad has practically ignored me ever since the divorce. He’s re-married, you know. And I think his wife wants a kid, as if he doesn’t already have one. To top it off, my doctor said I should play tennis again, and every time I think about it my throat starts constricting and I have to remember to breathe . . . and then I call you because you’re the only one I feel I can talk to. Which is ridiculous because it’s
you
.”

Caleb plays with a piece of grass he’s plucked from the ground. “Do you think your mom would be happy with this boss guy?” he asks.

I think back to the way Mom laughed at the Fall Festival and how nervous she was tonight. “Yeah, I do. But that’s the part that scares me. It’s like ending a chapter in your life and starting over. A single mom, boyfriends . . . so much has changed.”

“You’re stressing too much about what might be. Do something to take your mind off thinking about what might never happen.”

“Like what?”

“Pick up a racquet.”

“That’s not funny,” I say, already stressing and wanting to flee.

“I’m not trying to be funny, Maggie.” I hear him sigh, a low breath that comes out slow. “Can I see your scars?”

Oh my God. “No.” I shake my head feverishly while still staring at the ground. And I’m aware that my breathing just got heavier.

“Please don’t freak out on me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I went to jail for doing something to you and I have no clue what it looks like.”

I turn my head and I’m staring into his eyes, darker and more intense than I’ve ever seen them. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you remember the accident?” he asks, totally focused on my answer.

I shake my head.

“You remember nothing? Our conversation before the accident, me hitting you with the car?
Nothing at all?
”

“No. It’s a big blank. I only know what people told me.”

He blinks, then looks away. “We fought, you and I.”

“About what?”

He gives a short, cynical laugh. “Kendra.”

I’m trying to breathe evenly so I don’t give him a hint that I do remember. Every word he spat at me when I told him I loved him. It’s the only part of that night that’s crystal clear to me. The rest is stuck in a foggy haze. “I don’t remember,” I lie.

“You said she was cheating on me, that you saw her with some other guy but you wouldn’t tell me who. You were right, you know,” he says. “She was with Brian before I got put in jail.” He’s staring at me again, and this time I can’t look away. “You also said you loved me.”

I swallow, still mesmerized by his eyes. Those eyes that never gave me more than a glance a year ago are burning into mine. “I don’t remember,” I whisper.

“Maggie—” He takes my hand in his and places my palm against his cheek roughened with a day’s worth of stubble. He turns his head and kisses the inner, sensitive part of my palm, his eyes holding my gaze. “I should have done this a year ago.”

My heart flips over as he leans in and touches his lips to mine.